


Like Dents in Fresh Cream

by Arande_Nim



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Ableist Language, Food mentions, M/M, Weight Gain, negative self-talk, standard post-ws abuse mentions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-08
Updated: 2014-10-08
Packaged: 2018-02-20 08:24:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,621
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2421815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arande_Nim/pseuds/Arande_Nim
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I try my hand at the Steve/Bucky recovery thing, but with like 500% more pastry action.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Like Dents in Fresh Cream

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah, I draw my lifeforce from chubby Bucky fanfiction, and eventually I had to write some or wither to nothing. Title is from my childhood crush on Diana Barry, no idea why Anne settled for Gilbert. It is perhaps worth mentioning that I wrote and posted this all at one go, so set those expectations down before someone gets hurt.

Bucky doesn’t like to say so, but Steve’s _remember when, that reminds me of the time, I wasn’t there but you told me once that_ stories do more for Steve himself than for Bucky. He smiles faintly and appreciates the sentiment, but the words amount to so many mission reports, raw data devoid of context. Steve so rarely indulges in nostalgia for his own sake, it would be unkind to let him know he indulges alone.

 

What really helps, what pulls forgetful scabs from his mind, is thoughtless, wordless sensation. He steps on the pointed tip of a pen cap and recalls how Beth couldn’t remember to put her jacks away if you stood behind her with a switch. His hair catching in a brush brings back an agile young redhead, almost fast enough to bring her dull training knife to his throat as she yanked his head back. The cold, rough brick of Steve’s building under his palm conjures the image of a small, delicate Steve pinned between his body and the side of a bar, eyes wide with-

 

Bucky cuts off these flawed recollections when they creep in. Steve and the historical narrative are both confident that James Barnes while sound of mind did not attack his best friend, and neither mention the other thing it might be. It follows that these visions of pushing him down, of biting a muscular shoulder until he drew blood, they must have been implanted by Hydra to counter any residual loyalty to Captain America, or just confuse him. Steve finds reminders of what Hydra did to Bucky upsetting, so he makes a point of keeping them to himself.

 

Food, he finds, is a reliable trigger of positive memories. Nothing Steve keeps in the kitchen tastes anything like the nutrient-dense slurry Hydra provided, or army rations from the Forties. A plump, dark-haired woman he assumes is his mother features prominently in them, and the mere fact of her, that he _had_ a mother, not merely a manufacturer or a programmer, is more comforting than he can say.

 

She lectures four fidgeting kids on how yes, they may eat the ham her mother-in-law made for dinner because the old bat wanted to make a scene about Ruth trying to starve her own children, but that they had better not get used to it. She gives in to Bucky’s pestering and makes teiglach even though it’s the wrong time of year. She makes liver every Monday night even though they all hate it, because Bucky told her about Steve’s anemia and then brought him home like a stray cat. Eighty years later Steve still makes a point of liver on Mondays, under the impression it was a Barnes family tradition.

 

Steve likes taking Bucky to a bakery he claims is almost as good as the one Bucky’s family owned, which he thinks is the only outright lie he has told: The new place is upscale and uses ingredients far richer than any Mr. Barnes used. Then again, comparison with Steve’s usual fare at the time may have simply skewed his tastes. Over profiteroles, he recalls a neighbor telling Mrs. Barnes that she did the Lord’s work looking after the Rogers boy because there were church mice that looked down on him and his mother. It’s possible Steve overestimated those he cared about.

 

Steve is in the middle of an anecdote about Bucky trying to find him a date for Valentine’s Day of 1938 when he realizes he’s eaten all the profiteroles by himself. He feels worse when it occurs to him that in 1938 he had his sister Anna tell a girl with a certain interest in Steve Rogers that Steve thought she had a face like a sack of potatoes. It makes no sense, because that was Bucky’s own opinion, so it couldn’t have been motivated by jealousy. He hunches down in his seat and feels his over-full belly fold a little ways over the waistband of his jeans.

 

A slight pressure registers on his steel hand and he looks up to see Steve running his thumb over metal knuckles. He’s relieved he chose to touch that hand, the perfect, reliable one that never shakes or grows soft. The absolute least he can do is conjure up a timorous smile to meet Steve’s gaze.

 

“But after all that, I was gonna be by myself anyway, so you canceled on Mavis at the last minute and took me to the restaurant instead.” Steve snorts. “We had a real nice meal and you paid for it, but I spent the whole evenin’ yelling at you about how that was no way to treat a girl. I wasn’t really sore at you, but I was busy feeling sorry for myself and I kind of took it out on you. It’s a few years late, but I’m sorry I was such a little shit about it.”

 

Bucky shifts his hand so that it holds Steve’s with minimal force. He remembers sneaking forkfuls of Steve’s chocolate cake off his plate. It’s possible Steve overestimates those he cares about, and certain that Bucky has always been a bad friend and a lunatic. He is also too greedy and selfish to let go. Steve is touching him, nicely and on purpose, and looking at him with an expression he cannot identify but enjoys. A better person would come clean and confess that he’d been sabotaging Steve long before the fall, that the waitress’ red lipstick and brown curls made him feel like throttling her or maybe Steve, that the mental images of Steve naked and vulnerable are getting worse and leave his ears ringing and his heart pounding.

 

He never feels more like himself than when he pushes all that down and wishes he were the person Steve thinks he is.

 

*

 

There is a problem. They are watching the version of _Anne of Green Gables_ they apparently watched together in the 30s and Steve’s arm is around his waist, hand resting lightly on his stomach. If Bucky had known that was a possibility he would have eaten less at dinner, no, he would have been eating less all along.

 

As it is, Steve is not quite pinching at his flesh, but he’s bound to notice there’s more than enough if he wanted to. It’s all Bucky can do to tamp down his panic.

 

Steve is kind and endlessly forgiving, he reminds himself. In all likelihood, all he has to fear is a restricted diet and training regimen until he is deemed fit to go out fighting again. It will be nothing like the time Hydra caught him eating strawberries a target had been picking from her garden (the memory had risen from a fruit tart yesterday, and his throat had knotted to tightly for him to eat for the rest of the day, to Steve’s-concern? curiosity? irritation?). He has been spoiled and indulged for too long, and it is probably best for both of them that it ends now. Steve promised the day he came back that Bucky would never be frozen or wiped again, so he has nothing to fear and nothing to complain about. He forces himself to take a deep breath.

 

Steve seems to be waiting for the movie to end before he takes Bucky to task. His precision engineered body presses against Bucky’s degenerate one. He is either too engrossed in the movie to notice or pretending not to be appalled to spare his feelings, so he takes advantage to commit his scent, his comforting strength to memory. This probably won’t happen again until he gets hurt fighting for Steve, like he used to. He didn’t deserve it then and certainly doesn’t now, but Steve might patch him up again after and let Bucky bask in his tenderness and attention like old times. Until then, he can preserve this moment and savor it at his leisure.

 

Hold the things that are precious to you in an open hand, his mother said the first time a girl had broken up with him, it hurts less than when you try to hold them tight. Bucky shares this weakness, this possessive streak, with his past self. He is always amazed that Steve can visit Agent Carter without a trace of bitterness or resentment, can pour so much time and energy into Bucky’s maintenance and repair with so little to show for it. Bucky doesn’t deserve him, but every day it seems less likely that anybody really does.

 

*

 

Steve, for his part, is just relieved Bucky’s willing to eat again today, even if he wouldn’t touch the bowl of popcorn between them. He wishes he knew why a fruit tart would drive him to spend the day shivering in the gap between the bathroom sink and the wall, but he doesn’t want to make Bucky live through whatever it was a third time. Damned if ever buys something strawberry-flavored again, though.

 

Food is one of the few pleasures still available to Bucky, and he refuses to let that be ruined for him, too. He barely seems to hear music most of the time, and claims he doesn’t remember how to dance at all. He reads books like a dossier, skimming for relevant information. Movies with violence, or that evoke reminders of his past missions, seem to lock him up inside his own head. 

 

Bucky hasn’t regained his interest in women, either, but Steve is going to be very happy for him when he does. They met with Natasha a few times since reuniting, but Bucky merely gave a her a professional sort of once-over to identify weapons, no sign of the slow, predatory smile that gave away he was planning mischief with a girl.

 

No, so far his attention was held mainly by pastries and Steve himself, and he is not relieved by that at all. If he appreciates the laser focus of Bucky’s regard, it's only because it shows he isn’t trapped in a bad memory. His pleasure in Bucky’s appetite is because it means he’s not going hungry, not because he’s always loved the little double chin Bucky had a bit of even as the Winter Soldier.

 

Which, in turn, is not to say that he _doesn’t_ love it, because he won’t lie that egregiously to himself. It’s cute as hell and Steve’s been trying to keep his eyes off it since he was nine, since Bucky always got so touchy about it. The way Bucky had gotten long and lean during puberty had been one of the chief disappointments of Steve’s young life, but when his friend really grinned he looked like the chubby kid Steve had first lost his head over.

 

These days Buck is looking very well-fed, for all that Steve does his level best not to influence him unduly. Hopefully it’s not something that’s happening subconsciously, either. Steve can hardly be expected to stand idly by as Bucky looks plaintively at a donut shop. It doesn’t hurt that Bucky is generally chattier and more present in himself after eating – one of the Hydra files mentioned that they intentionally kept him on an unpalatable diet to discourage reward-seeking behavior, which permitted too much initiative on the asset’s part.

 

So donuts it is, and Steve merely makes a note to take Bucky shopping for clothes soon. He hasn’t regained his sense of style, but he might later, and he won’t thank Steve for letting him go around in shirts that won’t quite meet his pants, even if that happens to be a rather appealing look on him. Alright, he probably won’t thank Steve for letting him get that plump to begin with, but Future Bucky can take that up with Present Bucky. If he lets himself woolgather, he can imagine Future Bucky won’t mind, that he’ll decide to stay with Steve indefinitely, maybe let Steve keep taking care of him. Maybe they can adopt some mermaid babies and raise unicorns on their magic bean farm while they’re at it.

 

*

 

Bucky’s being a bit odd. He’s stiff as a board and his jaw keeps clenching, but he looks too aware to be having an episode, and Steve can see him trying to calm himself down. He’s afraid it has something to do with his arm around him, because he seemed alright before then.

 

That doesn’t quite make sense, though, since he’s been so receptive to Steve touching him until now. He was careful to keep it all appropriate, friendly, because what Bucky got up to a few times when he was literally falling-down drunk almost a hundred years ago doesn’t give Steve permission to do squat in the here and now. Holding hands, a pat on the shoulder, even a peck on the cheek once, these things are allowed, and Bucky’s even initiated a few times, a feather-light metal hand on the back of his neck.

 

But Bucky’s been doing so well lately, been able to tell Steve ‘no’ without hesitating or flinching, so he felt alright slipping an arm around him when they sat down for a movie, then after a little while he had just tensed up. It had been so subtle and gradual Steve hadn’t even noticed until he dared snuggle a little closer, and Bucky’s actually sweating now. He wonders if he ought to pull away, or if Bucky would think he was angry with him – he had always been a little sensitive, and he didn’t read body language in non-combat situations too well these days.

 

Instead, he gives Bucky’s belly an encouraging little pat and stands up. “I’m going to the kitchen, want something?” he asks. But Bucky’s pale as a ghost and cringes away, shaking his head. Steve gets the box of baklava he bought earlier anyway, even if Bucky isn’t up for it just yet. He was probably still a little full from dinner, but his sweet tooth usually won out in the end.

 

He gives Bucky more space on the couch, but he doesn’t uncoil, so maybe that wasn’t it. Steve’s pretty sure it isn’t just wishful thinking on his part, Bucky’s always been tactile, used to push past Steve’s own personal boundaries when he’d had too much to drink, he was just that way. “Should I put something else on?” he asks quietly. There’s always a chance Hydra sent him on a mission on Prince Edward Island.

 

“No,” Bucky says in a small, soft voice. “Not unless you want to. It’s fine, I like it.” He glances at Steve. “It’s almost over anyway.” He tugs his shirt down and wraps his arms tight around his middle. They sit until the credits in silence, and Steve can’t bring himself to even try the baklava.

 

Finally he just holds out a flaky little triangle. “Try some, they used to be your favorites,” he says as cheerfully as he can.

 

Bucky actually looks annoyed at that. “Just tell it to me straight,” he says in something just short of a snap. “I don’t need a, an object lesson. I know what I did wrong, and I promise I’ll stop. You don’t have to set me up to look like even more of a glutton.”

 

Steve spends a few seconds staring in bewilderment. “What?” he manages eventually.

 

Bucky just pinches his rounded side roughly. “I know I’ve just been lazing around, getting fat, and I’m sorry. I can get back into shape if you give me a little time, and then I can make all this worthwhile, I can hunt down Hydra for you, or with you if you want, I just needed a while to get my head on more or less straight. But I’m fine now, I’m better, and if you just give me a little more time I’ll prove it to you. I can actually be better for you than I used to be because this time I’ll be honest about everything, I promise, I really do.” It’s more than Bucky’s said all at once since World War Two, and when he’s done he wraps his arms back around his stomach defensively.

 

It takes Steve a little while to gather his words and get them in line. “Bucky,” he says in the gentlest tone he can manage. “First thing, you have to know I’m not going to use you like they did. If you want to start working for Fury or anyone, I’ll support you, but I’m never gonna ask that from you. You don’t need to, to apologize for yourself or earn your keep, you did that a long time ago, even if you don’t remember it. And you should take as much time as you need to recover.

 

“I wasn’t trying to set you up or anything, either. I’m definitely not complaining, hell, I like to see you eat.” He can feel himself blushing and ignores it. “I’m sorry I made you feel uncomfortable. I want you to be happy, I just don’t really know how to make that happen. If you could give me some tips, I’d appreciate it,” he jokes weakly.

 

Bucky sits back down and relaxes a hair. “You really don’t mind?” he asks after a little while. “The way I look now? Don’t just try to show off how good you are.”

 

Steve doesn’t roll his eyes, but it’s a near thing. “You must not remember the way I was always pushing my bad cooking on you when we lived together, or my rations during the war.” He decides it’s time to bite the bullet. “I’ve liked how you look with a few extra pounds for longer than most people’ve been alive, and I gotta say, I really like the way you fill out those jeans these days. I mean, not that you were bad-lookin’ before, but, uh, if they put a gun to my head and told me to choose, I’d – well, I’d fight them – but I do really like the way you look with some meat on your bones.” There you have it, ladies and gentlemen: The star-spangled man with a plan and unconventional sexual tastes and no idea how to talk to _anybody_.

 

The fact that Bucky is still just staring at him does not put him at ease, but he manages not to continue babbling. He shifts a little and tries to look nonchalant, to mimic Sam’s talking-to-superheroes face, and he suspects he fails badly. It’s easier to fake confidence in front of people trying to kill him than someone possibly about to tell him he’s a manipulative pervert who’s been barking up the wrong tree for eighty years. He wipes his palms on his pants as discreetly as he can and hopes Sam will be willing to house Bucky for a while if he doesn’t feel safe with Steve.

 

He’s wondering how many months of progress he’s undone with his self-centered little confession when he feels Bucky rest his chin on his shoulder. “Were we together?” he asks, warm breath fluttering against Steve’s ear. “In Brooklyn or Europe?” His original hand comes to sit gingerly on Steve’s thigh, as though he’s going to suddenly change his mind about wanting Bucky. He’d always had such nice hands, Steve’s aunt who had taught them both a little piano has said so. She’d always grouse at Steve for his dirty nails and bruised knuckles, but Bucky’d had a gift for keeping himself more presentable than any kid had a right to be.

 

“No,” he sighs. “Before, I was too scared of you turnin’ me down to even think about coming clean. After we got you back from Zola, it was pretty clear you had enough to deal with without me trying to lead you into a life of sin.” That didn't come out as lightly as he’d hoped. “There were some times I thought you were about to start something, but it never went far.”

 

Bucky swallows loudly. “But these pictures in my head,” he says. “Me and you, it’s not something Hydra would’ve made up? There’s a chance I came up with them myself? It’s just, sometimes I remember targets doing things, doing things to me, and I know they couldn’t have happened.” He laughs shortly. “I mean, this one lady, she couldn’t have been five-foot-five in heels, no way she took me down that hard, but I remembered her just beating the shit out of me when they told me she was too dangerous to live. Not that this stuff was anything like that, they were good, but I just can’t tell where it comes from sometimes.”

 

Steve half-turns and scoops Bucky into his lap, where he sighs and leans into him. “I’m not saying you were sweet on me, ‘cause I didn’t think you were, but you always did have your mind in the gutter. One time I listened in on a phone call to this girlfriend of yours, completely by accident-“

 

“I bet it was-“

 

“It’s true! The walls were thin and you were a real loudmouth about it-“

 

Bucky leans harder against him to snag the baklava from the side table. “I remember the time you’re talking about, and it’s a shame you picked that one to spy on. Looking back, if you’d heard Ellie McCullough talk about how she wanted me to lick chocolate syrup off her tits, you could have made a new friend and we’d all have had something to do of a Friday night.”

 

Steve grins. “Well, I think that’s the real shock of the evening, if one of your girls ever had a lick of good taste.” Mercifully, Bucky recognizes it as a joke instead of a criticism and shuts him up with a kiss, honey heavy and sweet on his tongue.


End file.
